


Where Do We Go From Here?

by Swanny_Writer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Model/Photographer AU, Photographer!Jun, WonHui honestly need to get their acts together, and of course there's a happy ending bc i am a sucker, it's not that bad, model!wonwoo, pls don't let the angst drive you away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swanny_Writer/pseuds/Swanny_Writer
Summary: After years of no contact, out of the blue, Wonwoo receives a phone call from the boy who broke his heart.(Or the pseudo-angsty one where WonHui meet again at a photoshoot)





	Where Do We Go From Here?

 

It starts with a phone call that goes unanswered. 

 

_“Hey… It’s me. Um… I-I don’t really know why I called you… I guess I just wanted to hear your voice… I miss you… Do you think if we could turn back time—I’m sorry, that’s ridiculous. Um…  Never mind. I’ll respect your wishes and not contact you anymore. I’m really sorry for bothering you. Bye.”_

 

Curled up in bed, he clutches the phone. The oppressing darkness of the room crawls toward him, creeping over from the corners and cracks, slithering up the bedposts until it reaches him. It twists around his legs and arms, climbing up his torso. Cold fingers grip his throat, sharp claws tear through the muscles, slipping through the bones of his ribcage to arrive at his heart.

It squeezes. He gasps. There’s no air. He’s suffocating. 

But he holds on to the phone, his knuckles turning white. The brightness of the screen is like a beacon. A beam of light in a storm. 

His fingers shake when he moves to press the replay button.

_His_ voice filters through the speakers once more. With each word, the gentle cadence chases away the shadows. The hand around his chest loosens. He breathes in. The message ends.

His thumb hovers over the button. He presses it. 

_“Hey… It’s me...”_ The coldness retreats. The wounds over his chest heals. Long, icy tips caress his skin as they draw away, uncurling their hooks and fangs from his body. With each push of the replay button, the darkness withdraws further and further away. Until finally, he’s left alone.

Alone with nothing but a voice.

Only then do the tears fall.

They’re warm. The drops glide down his cheeks, landing on his hands. 

Why do people cry? Sadness. Fear. Anger. Joy.

At the moment, he’s not sure which emotion would be accurate. Maybe all of them.

The tears don’t stop falling. The empty room fills up with the silent sobs of a man who lost everything, and the laughter of a man who’s about to regain everything.  

Eventually, the hysterical sobs and laughs cease. 

Wonwoo closes his eyes and presses the button again, letting Junhui’s voice lull him to sleep.

 

 

The next morning, he wakes up with a throbbing headache, a line running across his forehead from where he slept on his sleeve, bloodshot eyes, and tear-streaked cheeks. In short, he feels and looks like shit. Which is not how a model should be describing himself. He can feel like shit, but looking like it is forbidden.

A twinge of guilt pricks his gut for the makeup artists responsible for ensuring he passes as a living human, but he decides to ignore it. It’s not like there’s much he can do about it, anyway. He drags his carcass through the morning routine, waking up slightly when the shower head sprays cold water over his body. He gets dressed like a machine on auto-pilot, shoving down his breakfast out of need rather than hunger, downing two pain killers at the end. Grabbing his wallet and keys, he heads down to his car. 

The ride to the studio isn't long, but it's enough time for his mind to wander back to the phone call. Swallowing around the constriction of his throat, he grips the steering wheel tighter, stretching his neck side to side. No matter how he looks at it, he shouldn’t have listened to the message. The memories that Junhui’s voice brings to the surface are too many to count, and each one of them feels like individual tiny cuts over his tender heart. A heart he believed had shattered to pieces long ago. But he supposes it’s not the case if he can still relive every single second they had spent together.

Wonwoo’s known Junhui since middle school. Initially, they were just neighbors who ended up in the same classes over the years. They walked to school together, ate lunch together, played together, did homework together. And before he knew it, they were inseparable. He’s not even sure when he stopped seeing him as a friend, but he does remember their first kiss. 

As cliché as it sounds, it still happened. It was during a spin-the-bottle game. It was awkward and embarrassing, but at the end of the sleepover the following morning, he somehow found the courage to ask his best friend out. He took Junhui to the aquarium for their first date, and their second first kiss took place in one of those fake caves where the fish swim all around. Needless to say, it was vastly superior to the first one.

By the time they became sophomores in high school, Junhui had developed an interest in photography. He’d check out one of the cameras from the photo lab and spend the weekend taking various pictures. He borrowed books from the library and taught himself the basics of a good shot, then he’d practice what he learned with Wonwoo as the main subject most of the time. In fact, it’s one of those headshots that got Wonwoo signed up for modeling.

Things started to change, then. Instead of playing video games or going to the library with Junhui, now Wonwoo went to auditions and photoshoots. Sometimes, he even had to miss school for a few hours. While it was fun in the beginning, the novelty soon wore off. Especially when he got to spend less and less time with the one person he loved most. Despite hating the fashion and modeling world and its people, Wonwoo stayed on for one simple reason: it paid. It paid really well. To him, it was easy money: tolerate the gossip, pretend to be a dress up doll for a few hours, and then go home. 

He saved that money and used a part of it to buy Junhui a real, professional camera to save his boyfriend from having to endure the bullying from the yearbook kids. Junhui was ecstatic when he opened his sixteenth birthday present. There was a slew of promises to keep it in good shape and to continue working hard. Wonwoo hadn’t doubted those words. He'd known for a while that Junhui dreamed of going to art school to become a professional photographer. 

Really, how perfect of a pair were there? He was a model, his boyfriend an upcoming photographer. It was perfect, until it wasn’t.

 

Wonwoo puts on the blinker and merges into the next lane, making a left turn when the light turns green. The building comes into view, and he lets the memories fade out. Not that they truly disappear. After all, it’s impossible for him to go to work without thinking of Junhui. If it weren’t for that one shot taken the summer before the eleventh grade, Wonwoo wouldn’t be waltzing into the fancy building and seeing posters of himself hanging in the lobby.

In the dressing room, his friends and fellow models are already seated in front of the mirrors, dressed and practically ready to go. The staff buzz around the two, hair spray and blowdryer alternating between their hands. Mingyu throws him a glance when he grabs the hanger with today’s first outfit from the racks labelled with his name. Jeonghan looks up from his phone and offers a wave while Wonwoo buttons up the shirt. Once he slips on the shoes, he takes a seat at the end of the row, facing his pitiful appearance in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” Jeonghan asks, closing his eyes for the makeup artist to apply a light layer of eyeshadow.

“Fine,” Wonwoo grunts out. His own artist scowls at him, and he offers her an apologetic smile. As soon as she turns away to grab the foundation and concealer, he lets his face fall back to expressionlessness. 

“Those dark circles say otherwise,” Jeonghan remarks, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“Did you not sleep?” Mingyu wants to know.

Wonwoo shrugs. They may be his friends, but that doesn’t mean he’s willing to share his woes and heartbreak stories. Or how pathetic he felt when he received the call. He’s talked himself into calling back a hundred times. But he’s also talked himself out of it a hundred and one times. As far as he knows, that chapter of his life is over. There’s a reason they ended the way they did. There is no point opening old wounds.

Seeing as he was so unwilling to volunteer gossip, his friends resume their earlier activities before he arrived. While the artists worked to make him look presentable, he picks up today’s schedule and skims through it. He remembers the emails, but now his brain feels like swiss cheese, so it wouldn’t hurt getting a refresher. 

The shoot is for a semi-notable department store. They’re supposed to promote the men’s fall line, to be featured in magazines and posted online for all to see. It’s going to be a long shoot, he notes, but at least it’s done inside. He doesn’t think he’d be able to pull off the happy and enthusiastic young man if they had to go outdoors and pretend to be _happy_. He occupies himself with the schedule until his makeup is done. Then together with the others, they file out onto the set.

The scene is nothing he’s never seen. A large, white canvas is hung up in the background, lights and props are scattered around in front of a tripod with an expensive camera mounted on it. The photographer is currently adjusting the stands, holding up a light meter in the air as he lifts and lowers different posts. When he hears them approaching, with their footsteps and low chatter, he pauses what he’s doing to turn around and greet them.

The moment he does, Wonwoo’s stomach drops, and his body nearly does, too. Recognition flickering in the other’s eyes causes him to stop mid-sentence, full lips parting in shock, large brown eyes blown wide.

What a difference a few years can do to someone’s physique, Wonwoo muses absentmindedly. 

Gone is the gangly, clumsy teenager with a toothy grin. Standing before him is a tall man with broad shoulders and sharp features, fit to be promoted on every single magazine spread. 

Junhui blinks at him, looking exactly like a deer caught in the headlights. Just when Wonwoo wonders if he’ll flee, he shakes his head, cutting his eyes away from the model. He flashes a dazzling smile that makes Wonwoo’s chest squeeze despite everything, then strides over to them.

“Hi, good morning,” he says, voice soft and warm. Unlike the voice message, though, it sounds cheerful and full of life. “My name’s Wen Junhui. I’ll be your photographer today.” He extends out his hand to shake.

His friends immediately greet him with animated words and enthusiastic handshakes. He answers in kind, smile only faltering a fraction when he turns to Wonwoo. If the latter hadn’t spent so long studying his specific expressions, he doubts anyone would see the minute change.

As reluctant as he is to touch Junhui, he can’t refuse without seeming rude or drawing attention to them, so he grits his teeth and sticks his hand out. The moment their skins touch, a spark shoots out to shock them apart. Wonwoo drops the firm hand.

“Static,” he mutters toward his incredulous friends. He swings his tingly arm to try to dispel the sensation, rubbing at the center of his palm.

Junhui doesn’t speak to him as he turns to Mingyu to get the session going. While the younger works, Jeonghan and Wonwoo sit in the chairs nearby awaiting their turns. Of course Jeonghan doesn’t just sit there. His curiosity about Junhui’s sudden appearance itches his limbs. He’s barely sat down that he leaves to go talk to the staff members hanging out. He returns a couple minutes later to share the news. 

“Paul’s wife went into labor last night,” he tells Wonwoo, eyes sparkling. “I can’t wait to see the little peanut! I’m sure she’s the cutest little thing.”

“Yeah, we should send them something,” Wonwoo suggests. Their photographer has been a long time friend, and he’s happy that the man is finally a father. But he can’t bring himself to fully share the joy. Not when his own reason for happiness and distress is only a dozen or so feet away.

Wonwoo has been keeping a steady gaze on his high school boyfriend. He moves with certain steps, capturing shots after shots without much—if any—hesitation. It is quite a different sight from the Junhui he once knew, who took ages to frame his shot, reciting under his breath the basic rules involved in the perfect composition. Obviously, all of his pictures came out gorgeous every time, but he used to say that it was precisely because he took so long that they came out decent. Wonwoo had often stopped himself from pointing out that the headshot Junhui took of him was enough to land a modeling gig. Although he knew Junhui would respond with something like, “That’s all you, Wonwoo. They liked you and your face. I was merely there to capture what was already perfect.”

Letting out a sigh, he rubs one temple in small circles, feeling his headache returning. Photography and modeling. The things that brought them to this future. Also what drove them apart.

As he gazes at Junhui’s strong back, he recalls that fateful day. 

It was a few months away from graduation, and the two of them went to the park after school as they often did whenever Wonwoo didn’t have any scheduled events, and Junhui didn’t have to work right away. They found a spot in the grass, under the shades of a large tree. The model sat down with his back leaning against the trunk, and Junhui settled in next to him, using his lap as a makeshift pillow.

Wonwoo gently stroked his hair, and Junhui’s eyes slowly shut close. He looked exhausted. Which was to be expected when he had to juggle school and two jobs. Every morning, Junhui woke up before dawn to deliver newspapers, then spent the day at school. In the afternoon, he worked at the local mart until closing time. Wonwoo often wondered if the boy slept at all. To everyone else, Junhui always looked like a ball of positive energy, but whenever they found a moment alone, the model saw the cracks showing through the thin veneer of cheerfulness. His job felt like a walk in the park in comparison.

Although he knew why Junhui pushed himself to his limit. He didn’t want to rely on his family to pay for arts school. A noble thought, if it didn’t threaten to kill him. Which was why Wonwoo had to interfere. As much as he wanted Junhui to catch up on sleep, he had to talk to him. So gently, he brought his hand down from the soft hair to his cheek. He poked at it, causing the sleeping boy to crack his eyes open. A disgruntled pout forms on pink lips.

“What?”

“I have good news,” Wonwoo says, prompting the other to rub at his eyes and sit up. Wonwoo chuckles as he fixes the unruly hair. 

“What kind of good news?”

Now that Junhui looks alert enough to listen and understand, Wonwoo starts talking. “I received a call from my manager. Pledis wants to sign me up for their young adult campaign. It’ll basically be like a full-time job with tours and shows.”

“Wow!” Junhui’s eyes light up with joy and excitement. “Congratulations! When would you start? Is it a summer thing?”

“In September.”

At that, his boyfriend’s expression deflates. “What about college?” 

Wonwoo shrugs, smile unfaltering. “I’ll push it back. With this contract, I won’t be in one city for long anyway."

Tilting his head, Junhui frowns slightly, tugging at his lip. “Modeling takes precedence over college? I thought… You were never really that serious about modeling. I always thought your goal and dream was to become a writer, Wonwoo.”

“It is,” the other insists. “But I don’t need a degree to write. There’s always night classes, or online courses. That’s not what’s important.” He shakes his head, grabbing Junhui’s hands to get him to focus. “If I sign this contract…” A laugh escapes. “If I sign this, you won’t have to work yourself to the bone anymore. I could pay for your entire tuition without breaking a sweat,” Wonwoo delivers the news with such excitement, he almost bursts at the seam.

However, his boyfriend doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. “Wonwoo,” Junhui calls, his brows furrowed as he chews on his bottom lip. “I can’t let you do that.”

“But I want to! Do you know I feel everyday when I see you walk into class half dead? How terrible it is to watch you pretend to be all right in front of our friends and teachers?” The joy was slowly fading away, and Wonwoo’s stomach started to twist. 

“Well how do you think I’d feel using the money you earned through doing something you hardly tolerate?” Junhui fires back. “I don’t want you to throw away your dreams and aspiration just to send me to school. I can managed on my own.”

“Why are you so stubborn about the stupidest things?” Wonwoo shouts, anger rising along with his voice. “It’s my life, I’ll do whatever I want with it! You are killing yourself with those jobs. I have a solution. What’s so hard to understand? So modeling isn’t my dream career—big deal! Tons of people have it way worse.”

“No.” Junhui sets his mouth into a thin line, his gaze steady as he meets Wonwoo’s eyes. “Sign that contract if you really want, but I am not accepting that money. I won’t use you as my meal ticket, Wonwoo.”

The model grips his shoulders and shakes. “What is wrong with you?”

Junhui fights him off easily. “I know you, Wonwoo. I know that you’ll continue to work your ass off even when it becomes unbearable, just because you’ll feel obligated to me. You might not think so now, but one day, you will resent me for being the reason you didn’t pursue your dreams.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” he replies right away, never been more certain in his life. 

“You don’t know that!” Junhui cries out, arms rising in the air in exasperation. “This isn’t like deciding between burgers and pizzas. This concerns our entire future!”

“I know that!” Groaning, Wonwoo pushes his hands through his hair. “And I would like a future with you _alive_ , damn it! So get your head out of your ass and knock your pride down a few pegs.”

The two glare at each other, teeth grinding, hands fisted at their sides. It’s clear from their stances that neither is going to budge. At this very second, Wonwoo really wants to punch his boyfriend. Perhaps the shock and pain will be enough to wake him up from the stupidity. 

“I need to get to work,” Junhui says, getting to his feet to grab his backpack.

Wonwoo follows suit, still pissed and bouncing with pent up energy. “You can’t just run away from this.”

“Why? Because you’ll just force me to do what you want?” the other counters with a scoff as he swings the straps over his shoulder. 

“How is that any different from what you’re trying to do, huh?” Wonwoo marches over and cuts off the path, putting himself right in front of the other. “It’s my decision how I want to shape my future, whether it be with writing or modeling. And I choose modeling.”

Junhui glances over, large eyes boring into Wonwoo’s. He swallows as if steadying his nerves. It’s then that the softest whisper delivers the harshest words. “Then maybe I don’t want to be part of that future.”

It feels like the wind got knocked out of him. Wonwoo stares in stunned silence, unable to match up the words to the person who spoke them. He breaks out in cold sweats. There’s a ton of lead crushing his chest. He can’t breathe. 

“W-what did you just say?”

Junhui stares straight ahead, his face blank saved for the redness of his eyes. “I never should’ve taken your picture.” Having conveyed his thoughts, he side-steps Wonwoo and leaves. 

 

“Wonwoo?”

A hand shakes his arm, and he snaps out of the flood of memories. He’s at the studio, not in the park. Jeonghan is standing next to him, a concerned look on his face. The younger model blinks and shakes his head.

“Sorry, guess I fell asleep with my eyes open.”

Jeonghan chuckles, seemingly relieved at seeing the humor. “Better wake up, then. It’s your turn.”

Wonwoo wants to groan when he glances over and sees Mingyu laughing and chatting with their photographer. It’s been years since he’s suppressed the memories and emotions associated with them. Revisiting them today—especially with Junhui in such close proximity—makes everything feel raw and fresh. He’s not a renowned twenty-one year old model; he’s back to a confused and hurt high school senior. The internal conflicts result in a jumble of feelings. For the first time in years, nervousness bites at his skin. 

The easy smile slips off Junhui’s face when he approaches behind Mingyu. The photographer turns as if to look through the checklist of necessary shots, but Wonwoo knows it’s BS. Junhui has always had excellent work ethics. It wouldn’t surprise Wonwoo the least bit if he could recite the entire list from memory. The model's inner rebellious teenager wants to call him out on it, but he reigns that urge in. They were adults now. Professionals on the job. He can’t let their past and private lives affect work.

So he walks over and takes his position in front of the camera. 

Their session starts.

Junhui brings the camera over his eye, fingers adjusting the lens. The shutter clicks. Wonwoo moves to a different pose. The same pattern repeats until Wonwoo can almost pretend he can’t see the man behind the camera. 

“Tilt your chin a bit for me,” Junhui asks gently, adjusting his stance. “There you go. Thanks.”

_“Wonwoo, go over there and try to catch that slant of sunlight! Right… right there! Stop! There you go! Thanks!”_

The model shuts his eyes and breathes out through clenched teeth. He takes the short pause while Junhui inspects the latest shots through the viewfinder to loosen out his tensed muscles. He jumps in place a few times, rubbing his shoulder. Try as he might, though, they still remain stiff.

Junhui moves the camera back into position, but then he lowers it almost immediately. A small frown mars his handsome face, crease forming between elegant brows. Wonwoo fists his hands to stop himself from crossing the small gap between him and Junhui to smooth it out with his thumb.

“What?” he asks instead, voice cold and dead. He sees the other flinch at the tone. Despite the frustration and annoyance, he finds himself clearing his throat and softening his next words. “Is something the matter?” The irony of his own question threatens to cause him to laugh in hysterics.

Still not kicking the habit, Junhui chews on his bottom lip. “I know you’re famous for the smoldering looks on the runway and fashion magazines,” Junhui says carefully, “but this is a little more family friendly. Do you think you could… smile more?”

Wonwoo blinks at him. A wave of nostalgia crashes over his head.

_“I know you want to come across as brooding and cool, but come on. Smile! You look way more handsome!” Junhui giggled, bringing the camera to his face again. Wonwoo rolled his eyes at the compliment, but he cracks a smile nonetheless, leaning against the tree and watching his boyfriend hop back and forth to capture the moment to his heart’s content._

Whatever lightness he could scavenge disappears into smoke. “Sorry, I guess I don’t feel very cheery today,” he states, frowning even more than he was before.

Junhui winces, lowering his gaze to the corner of the set as he sighs. When he straightens up, he sounds tired. “Can you try? The shots won’t be useable otherwise.”

The rebellious teenager is gaining grounds. Wonwoo crosses his arms and rests his weight on the heels of his feet. “Isn’t it the photographer’s job to put the models at ease?” he challenges. He knows he’s being petty, yet he can’t stop himself. He regards Junhui with defiance, brows lifting to dare the other to say something in reply.

Instead of arguing, though, Junhui drops his shoulders dejectedly. “Wonwoo, please.” The plead is tiny and strained. Accompanied by the innocent eyes, it takes all of Wonwoo’s self-restraint to not let his anger and frustration melt away.

“Um.” Mingyu interrupts the stare-down as he passes by, water bottle in hand. He regards both parties with a curious look, gesturing between them with the hand holding the bottle cap. “Do you guys know each other?”

Junhui flickers his gaze to address the inquiring model. “Actually, we—”

But Wonwoo cuts in. “No.”

Shock and pain flashes across Junhui’s face as he watches Wonwoo. The other pretends not to see.

In the meantime, Mingyu still eyes them with oddity, wondering why the atmosphere feels so tense. 

Junhui removes the strap around his neck and deposits the camera safely on the table nearby. Wonwoo panics, wondering if he had unintentionally driven their photographer away. However, the fear proves unnecessary because the latter addresses Wonwoo.

“I think we need a break. Come on, my treat.” Without waiting for an agreement from the scowling model, he grabs his wrist and tugs him away out of the room and down the hall, where the vending machines are situated.

Junhui’s hold is gentle but firm at the same time. Wonwoo can easily yank his hand free, but he lets himself be dragged away, too preoccupied by the familiar sensation. Only this time, the touch sears his skin. He feels hot and overwhelmed, but he’s not ready to sever the connection. Idly, his mind spins around in circles, spinning out nonsense like whether the burn will leave another scar behind. A reminder of Junhui’s presence in his life that no one but Wonwoo can see and feel.

Arriving in front of the vending machines, Junhui lets go, forcing Wonwoo to face him.

“What is your problem?” the photographer hisses, voice hushed to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

The question is the last straw. Wonwoo cracks.

“What is my problem?” he repeats, not as careful with his voice and temper as the other. “My problem is the fucking voicemail you left me at 3am! You leave me without any warning, and then you suddenly pop back into my life overnight! How do you think I feel?”

Still soft-spoken, Junhui responds, “I didn’t leave you.”

“Then what the hell do you call the past four years of absence, huh?” he shouts, invading Junhui’s personal space.

The latter stands his ground, but he sighs as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s complicated.”

A wry, humorless laugh escapes Wonwoo’s mouth. “Of course it is. So complicated you couldn’t say goodbye? Or have the decency to pick up the phone or answer emails?” 

“I—” 

“Is there a problem?”

The two bickering boys spin around at the new voice, coming from around the corner. It’s one of the managers, and he eyes them with wariness.

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” Junhui says right away, bowing respectfully toward the older man. 

Wonwoo finds himself doing the same, adding, “We were just going back now.”

Bowing again, they flee the scene. 

Back on set, Wonwoo gets his act together and lets Junhui direct him through the poses just like he did before. There’s no point fighting. The sooner he gets through the list of necessary shots, the sooner he’ll get to go home. They move quickly, working like clockwork. Then it’s Jeonghan’s turn, and Wonwoo tortures himself by sitting in, rather than going outside to get some fresh air and put some distance between him and Junhui. As the day progresses, he goes through the multiple outfit changes, sharing shots with Mingyu and Jeonghan. But even as he keeps his body moving, he can’t stop thinking about it.

_“I didn’t leave you… It’s complicated.”_

The words keep replaying in his head, and for the life of him, he can’t determine what Junhui means. Junhui left him and never turned back. It’s as simple as that.

After their huge fight and Junhui seemingly breaking up with him, Wonwoo figures it’ll blow over just like any other fight they’ve had prior. He still sees Junhui in class, looking as exhausted as ever, but they don’t talk during breaks, or at lunch. Junhui doesn’t even look his way in the halls. And after a while, he started to do the same. Not because he thinks the breakup is real, more as his own attack against the cold shoulder. 

Time progresses, and before long, final exams roll around. At that point, he doesn’t even have time to think about their fight. He spends every waking moment studying and going to meetings for the fashion shoots. Because regardless of what Junhui said, he’s signed the contract and he’s determined to see his plan through. Jeon Wonwoo was no quitter. He’s going to drag Wen Junhui to the finance building of the school by the scruff of the neck if he has to.

With their schedules getting busy and busier, it’s no surprise that one day he wakes up to register the fact that it’s Graduation Day. He floats through the event in a daze, coming to the realization that high school is over. Their childhood is coming to an end. He marches across the stage, shakes hand with the principal, receives the diploma, poses for the commemorative picture, then returns to his seat. A hundred or so names are called before he hears _Wen Junhui_ through the speakers. He strains his eyes to the stage, watching him take similar steps and stops. The photography enthusiast beams, his joy and pride overpowering the fatigue. Wonwoo claps with extra vigor. His boyfriend won’t have to look like that for much longer, he tells himself. 

After the ceremony, he’s whisked away by his family before he gets a chance to fight the crowd and find Junhui. He tries to call and leave messages, but they all go unanswered. He figures Junhui must be swamped with his own family and the celebrations. Wonwoo doesn’t think much of it.

The next day, though, he tries to call again from the airport. He won’t be home for a few weeks, flying to different shoots and then a mandatory summer camp of some sorts. Wonwoo stays glued to the phone all the while until he has to board. No answer. He doesn't get many opportunities to call after that. As most jobs do, it leaves him boneless and weary. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t fall into bed headfirst and passes out until the following morning to start all over again. It’s grueling work, but it’s worth it. During the day, he can’t be seen using his phone on set, so he only manages short texts during rides to the outdoor locations.

He receives nothing in return.

After the trip, the first stop he makes is at Junhui’s house. He’s no longer thinking of the stupid fight. He’s worried sick with a sense of trepidation and doom that something happened to Junhui after Graduation. And it turns out, Wonwoo’s right.

Junhui’s aunt comes to answer the door, smiling at him. “Hello, Wonwoo. Did you just get back from your trip?” she asks, noticing the luggage at his side.

“Yes, auntie. Um, is Junhui home?” he wonders, forcing his voice not to shake.

“Oh.” She blinks, seemingly confused for a second. “Didn’t he tell you? He won some sort of trip from the Junior Expo while you were gone.”

“Ah, I see,” he replies. Although he sees nothing. Why did Junhui leave without a word? Where did he even go? “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“They said two weeks,” she answers. “He left two days ago.”

“Okay,” he bows. “Thank you, auntie.”

As he turns to leave, she calls him back and tells him to wait for a moment. She returns to the door holding a navy hoodie that Wonwoo recognizes right away. He gave it to Junhui one rainy day when the scatterbrained forgot his own jacket. After that day, though, Junhui grew fond of it, and Wonwoo had told him to keep it.

“He told me to give this back to you whenever you dropped by,” Auntie says, handing it to him. “Said he shouldn’t have hogged it all this time.” She chuckles, and Wonwoo compels himself to echo the sound. But it sounds so empty, he’s not sure he manages to fool her.

“Thank you.” 

“Even if Junhui’s not here, do come by to visit,” she tells him as he picks up his luggage in his free hand. “We’re always happy to have you.”

“I will,” he promises with a weak smile.

It’s not until two weeks pass without a peep from Junhui that Wonwoo finally accepts the facts. That day at the park, Junhui had been serious. He doesn’t want to be part of Wonwoo’s future.

Wonwoo always imagines heartbreak to be loud and violent. Trashing limbs and screeching wails. Drunken nights and angry sobs. But when it finally catches up to him, heartbreak is silent. 

It’s lonely nights staring at the ceiling wondering how it could have gone so wrong.

It’s broken sobs into the pillow from the dull ache in his chest.

It’s trembling fingers flipping through old photos of the two of them. 

Wonwoo is very surprised to discover that a heart is soundless when it shatters.

 

“Sleeping with your eyes open again?” Jeonghan laughs, swatting his arm. 

He sits up straighter, rubbing his eyes. “Nah, just thinking.”

“What could you be thinking about so hard that you’re still sitting here like a statue?”

Now that he pays attention, he sees that Junhui is packing up, and his friends are waiting for him to return to the dressing room. He quickly stands up and stretches, stalling for time. “Nothing much, just… stuff.”

With a devilish grin, Jeonghan leans toward him, eyes squinting the same way they do whenever he encounters juicy gossip. “You wouldn’t be crushing on our new photographer, are you?”

Wonwoo chokes on his own spit. He throws a quick look to the front, but luckily, Junhui hasn’t heard. “What in the world makes you say that?”

The older male shrugs, returning to his angel persona. “Oh, just an observation. The longing stares throughout the shoot, the sexual tension whenever you’re shooting one-on-one, and let’s not forget that ‘break time’. You two returned without any snacks or drinks, so what did you do?”

Reeling back, Wonwoo eyes him with a raised brow. “Just because we didn’t bring anything back it automatically means we sneaked off to make out or something?”

Jeonghan’s eyes light up. “Did you?”

“No! I finished the coffee can, and he just had some chips,” he lies easily. 

“Hm,” the other appears unsatisfied. “Then why didn’t he invite me to snack time?”

“I don’t know, ask him.” Wonwoo slips into the dressing room and escapes further questions by getting changed.

He takes extra long unbuttoning the shirt and folding the pants along the creases before putting them back on the hanger. Then unlike usual, he actually grabs some makeup wipes and washes the hues off of him. He figures the longer he takes, the less chances he’ll run into Junhui in the halls or lobby. It’s true that he wants to hear what the other has to say, but at the same time, he can also live without the awkwardness and embarrassment that would surely arise once Jeonghan catches them together.

Unfortunately, he must have really upset some deity, because when he exists, his friends and Junhui are gathered in the lobby, chatting animatedly. He slowly backs away. Maybe he can still make it out if he takes the backdoor.

“Wonwoo! Took you long enough,” Mingyu calls, waving him over before he’s had a chance to escape. 

_Goddamnit!_

“What are you guys still doing here?” he wants to know, pretending not to hide partially behind the taller model. 

“Waiting for you,” Jeonghan elbows him. “We’re going to Happy Hour. You don’t get to say no,” he adds before Wonwoo even opens his mouth. “I’ve already called the others. They’ll meet us there. Come on.” As if afraid that he’ll run off—which he would have—Jeonghan hooks his arm through the potential fugitive's and walks them out.

“When you say ‘we…’” he ventures, eyeing the brunet walking in front with Mingyu. “Do you mean—” 

“I mean the four of us,” the blond says, flashing him a smirk. “I figured it’d be a nice occasion to get to know each other since we’ll be working with Junhui for a while.”

“Huh?” This is news to him. “I thought he’s just taking over for Paul today.”

“Yeah, but Paul won’t be returning for a couple weeks. He wants to spend that time with his wife and baby girl. Isn’t that adorable and sweet? Anyway, Junhui is one of his close friends, so he’ll be working with us until then. Nice, huh?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo represses a sigh. “It’s wonderful.” 

Since Wonwoo drove to the studio, they all pile into his car. He doesn’t see a problem with it until he sees both of his friends getting into the backseat, leaving Junhui standing beside the car with a conflicted expression on his face. Wonwoo is uncertain how Jeonghan managed to rope their photographer into a night of drinking, but then again, the blond was capable of much worse.

Wonwoo shoots an accusing looking toward the devil in disguise, who is snickering at him through the back window. Raising his head, he catches Junhui watching the exchange with a raised brow. The photographer silently asks him what to do. Sighing and shaking his head, Wonwoo waves a hand toward the passenger seat.

Hesitantly, Junhui slips off the strap of his backpack and gets in.

The two of them had never driven together. Back when they were in school, they took public transportations everywhere, or they just walked. For whatever ridiculous reason, Wonwoo feels a rush of pride and excitement as he starts the engine and sees Junhui riding shotgun, discreetly admiring the dash. 

“It’s a really nice car,” he murmurs, loud enough for only Wonwoo to hear.

“Thanks.” _Could have been yours, too, if you hadn’t left me_.

From the back, Jeonghan scoots forward to rest his forearms on the seats in front of him. He grins, peering at the two of them. “So Junnie,” he calls sweetly, but Wonwoo’s known him for long enough to know that tone. He’s fishing for gossip. Wonwoo wishes there was a way to warn Junhui to keep his mouth shut. But all he can do is shoot his high school boyfriend a wary glance. 

Junhui hums with a smile, half turning to see the older better. He’s always been too oblivious for his own good, Wonwoo thinks with exasperation. 

“You’re a nice young man,” Jeonghan says. “Are you involved with anyone right now?”

Mingyu laughs from the back seat, while Wonwoo groans. Junhui blinks.

Wonwoo can’t stand the weird atmosphere, so he intervenes. Not because he’s afraid of the answer. “Don’t you think that’s kind of personal?”

“Nothing is too personal between friends, right?” the other grins.

“Um,” Junhui fidgets, not dealing with the spotlight well. Guess that hasn’t changed. Wonwoo throws another look toward him, and he sees him doing the same. “No, not right now,” he finally answers. Wonwoo lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Really?” As if expecting it, Jeonghan proceeds with his next question. “Then I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself this evening. We have plenty of good candidates to introduce you to.”

“Er…” Junhui’s eyes dart around the car, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “That’s, uh, you don’t have to do that.” To escape, he unzips his bag and digs out his water bottle.

“Aw, don’t worry! It’s no trouble at all!”

“He doesn’t need you to play matchmaker, Jeonghan,” Wonwoo pipes up, irritation making his tone more testy than he intended.

“Why?” the blond turns toward him. “Were you going to make a move?”

Junhui chokes on his water. His coughing fit thankfully puts an end to that line of questions, and they arrive at the bar a few minutes later.

The bistro is loud and raucous, as it often is during this time of day. Their friends, having arrived earlier, already asked for a table in the back, where their voices wouldn’t create too much of a disturbance to the rest of the patrons. Jeonghan leads their little unit in, greeting and laughing as the others notice them. 

Wonwoo isn’t paying them much attention, even as he says hello and offers smiles. He’s more concerned with Junhui meekly walking behind Jeonghan. Junhui’s never done very well with crowds, especially ones he was unfamiliar with. Although he tells himself it’s not his problem, he can’t help feeling a sense of protectiveness over the brunet. He’s still trying to find a solution to ease the tension when Jeonghan calls his name.

“Wonwoo, go take a seat,” he urges, pointing to the empty chair between Soonyoung and Jihoon.

“Right.” As he navigates, he notices Jeonghan already placing Junhui between him and Hansol. Wonwoo doesn’t have to worry about the college student, but he’s uneasy about Jeonghan and what he can potentially pull off. Like those questions in the car.

Once he gets to his seat, he realizes that he’s directly facing Junhui. _Wonderful_. He shoots the devil in disguise an accusatory look, but it goes ignored with a light shrug and charming smile.

Introductions get underway, led by Seungcheol as they go around the table, saying their names and a fun fact about themselves. Wonwoo suddenly gets flashbacks to summer camp. A waiter comes out to take their orders as they chat. 

Little by little, Junhui relaxes and starts to laugh along with the usual shenanigans that arise whenever the group gets together. Wonwoo absentmindedly reflects about how this is how things would have looked like if he and Junhui hadn’t broken up. He fits in so easily among the group, as if he’s always been there, meant to be here. Wonwoo knows it’s unwise to get hung up on the past; he’s been repressing it for four years. But it’s getting harder and harder to remind himself of that.

“Mm! This is really good!” Hansol exclaims as he eats a piece of fried aperitif. Mouth half-full, he points at the dish with large eyes, “Junhui, you should try it!”

“He doesn’t eat eggplants,” Wonwoo finds himself saying before his mouth-filter could kick in.

“Oh, really?” Hansol shrugs. “Then get some shrimp.”

Wonwoo tips back his soda, eyes meeting Jeonghan’s. _Crap_. “What?” he asks.

“How did you know he doesn’t like eggplant?” he wants to know, leaning his elbow on the table, full of interest. “Is that what you guys talked about during your little ‘break’?”

From the corner of his eye, Wonwoo notices Junhui throwing them a look. “Yep,” the model answers easily, grabbed a chicken wing. “Talked about food and stuff.”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes, unsatisfied. “Junnie,” he turns to his right. “Where did you say you grew up again?”

_Are you freakin’ serious?_

Junhui blinks, not expecting the sudden question. He swallows his bite. “Um… Not very far from here, actually.” 

“Really? How ‘not very far’ is it?”

The photographer starts to get flustered, the tips of his ears turning red. “Like, a couple towns over.”

“You don’t say!” Jeonghan exclaims with feigned surprise. Wonwoo wants to kick him under the table, but he’s afraid of hitting the others around them. “Wait, does that mean you lived in the same town as Wonwoo?”

“Um…” Not knowing how to answer, he flicks his eyes over to the other model, and Wonwoo blows out a breath.

“Why does it matter where he grew up?”

“Because I want to get to know him a little better,” the blond says. “But maybe I should just be asking you all my questions.”

“Wait,” Soonyoung jumps in. _Perfect. Another blabbermouth._ “You guys are from the same neighborhood? You went to school and stuff together? What a coincidence!”

“Seriously?” Mingyu gets involved from the other end of the table. “I _knew_ something was up earlier! And you said you didn’t know each other, pff,” he scoffs, laughing good-humoredly. 

“So what’s the story?” Seungcheol wants to know, sipping on his drink.

Then Seungkwan adds in, waving his chopsticks around, “And why did you try to hide it?”

Wonwoo looks at the interest reflected in his friends’ eyes, and he heaves yet another exasperated sigh. If only he had managed to escape through the backdoor. Or better yet, if he called in sick this morning.

“We weren’t hiding anything,” he eventually says. “There’s just nothing worthwhile to say.” He doesn’t miss Junhui averting his gaze and shoulders drooping. 

“You’re such a bore,” Jeonghan interjects. He turns to Junhui, draping an arm around his shoulder and leaning in close. Now Wonwoo _really_ wants to kick him. “Junnie, was he always such an old, unfunny man back in school?”

That question elicits a short giggle from the photographer, and Wonwoo’s chest squeezes at the familiar sound he’s loved so much. 

“No,” Junhui meets his eyes. “Wonwoo used to be a lot nicer, but I guess something really bad happened.”

“Oooh!” the table harmonizes. “Like a bad breakup?”

“Heartbreak?” Seungkwan squawks around a mouthful of rice, eyes turning immediately to Wonwoo.

“This is really dumb,” the latter says, rubbing his face with his hands. “He’s just messing around with you. Nothing significant happened. I’ve always been an irritating son of a bitch.”

“Not true!” Soonyoung counters. “I saw those pictures of when you just began modeling,” he says, turning to the rest of the group. “He looked _so_ innocent! Like a tiny little baby,” he coos, making everyone but Wonwoo laugh. “Especially his first ever headshot. You guys’ve seen it, right? He was so full of life! So happy! Ahh! What I’d give to see that innocent young lad today!”

“Shhh!” Jihoon hushes him, pulling him back into his seat. “Use your indoor voice or we’ll be thrown out again.”

“Ooops,” the buzzed ball of energy grins, putting finger over his lips. “Gotta be quiet!”

The table roars into laughter once more.

“Since you knew him in school,” Seungcheol addresses Junhui, “You probably saw him turning from regular kid to modeling celebrity, right?”

Junhui smiles and nods. “Yeah.” There’s a fondness in his expression, not at all the way Wonwoo remembers his high school years. 

“So who took that fateful shot?” Mingyu wants to know. “Every time people ask, he keeps evading the question.”

Before Junhui can say anything, Wonwoo jumps in. “That’s because I didn’t want to sound smug. I took it myself.”

A chorus of disagreements and criticism erupt from the other eleven boys. 

“There’s no way that was a selfie,” Minghao assess. “Why you gotta make it so secretive? Was it an ex, is that why?” He finishes the joke with a laugh, which prompts the others to join in, but Wonwoo and Junhui remain stoic, averting their gazes from each other. 

“Oh, shoot,” Seokmin stops long enough to notice the dark clouds hanging over the opposite end of the table. “It’s true?”

“No way!” Chan’s jaw drops. “It really was your ex?”

All eleven heads spin to look at Junhui for confirmation, but the photographer gives them a small smile. “I think we should drop the subject. It’s understandably a sensitive topic for Wonwoo.”

“Right.” Jeonghan agrees with a nod, proving himself to be a decent friend after all. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Thankful, Wonwoo meets Junhui’s gaze. They exchange small nods. 

The rest of the evening rolls through without any further probing. They stuff their bellies with delicious foods, and by the end, only a handful of them remain sober. They split the tab, then Jihoon and Seungcheol call for a few taxis. Wonwoo takes the two models and Junhui into his car, planning to dropping them off one by one.

“It’s fine, I can take the train,” Junhui tells him once they’ve determine where the locations are relative to each other. “My place isn’t anywhere near the others or yours.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wonwoo insists. “It’s late.” It takes a few more tries, but Junhui ends up relenting and getting into the car. 

Wonwoo helps his friends get home safely, and then it’s just him and Junhui in the car.

The ride is done is silence, with nothing but the sound of the wind wheezing by and Wonwoo’s own thundering heart. 

“Thanks for earlier,” he eventually says to dispel the deafening air. 

Junhui nods. “There’s no need. It was the least I could do.” After a pause, he adds, “I understand why you don’t want anyone to know.”

Wonwoo presses his lips together. When he glimpses over, Junhui has his head shifted to look out the window. 

Night presses in on them again. There’s a lot Wonwoo wants to say and ask, but he can’t make the words come to him. Can’t form the thoughts to speak intelligibly. His attempts take so much effort, he ends up switching over to auto-pilot again. A few minutes later, they find themselves in Wonwoo’s parking lot.

Junhui scans the unfamiliar surrounding, clearly understanding this isn’t his house. Questions swirling around his head, he turns to Wonwoo.

Instead of answering, though, Wonwoo asks, “Do you want to come up?”

They study each other for a brief moment. _We really need to talk_. Junhui nods and follows him out.

When Wonwoo headed to work this morning, he never imagined that he’d be sitting at his kitchen table with the boy who broke his teenaged heart by the end of the night. They each have a cup of hot coffee in front of them, and they’re boring holes into the wooden surface.

“Why did you leave?” Wonwoo wants to know, voice small and pained. All of the emotions from that day return, and he curls in on himself, cupping his hands around the warm mug to chase away the chills.

Across from the table, Junhui chews on his lip and swallows. He releases his lip to let out a long sigh and starts to explain. “A few days after you went on your trip, I entered the Junior Expo. My pictures won first prize, and one of the judges was actually a very respected photographer. He liked me, and he said he saw potential in me. So he took me on as his student. It was a dream come true, really. He met with my family and told them he’d take care of my expenses, and I only had to show him that I earned the opportunity by studying hard. But he had one rule.” 

Here Junhui flicks his gaze upward.

“There was going to be no outside communication, except for a short call home to let them know I was alive,” he laughs wryly, shaking his head. “As great as Mr. Park is as a photographer, he’s also one of the most eccentric man I’ve ever met. The trip was only supposed to last for two weeks, then I’d go back home and study under him at his local art studio. But during the trip, he decided he didn’t want to go home. One day, he just woke up and decided to go on a cross-country trip to capture ‘life’. And so he took me with him.” Junhui shrugs, sipping at the cooling drink. 

“We went everywhere, without a real plan or much of anything. Just our luggage and cameras. Oh, and a journal," he allowed. "Sometimes, I’d go a month without communication to the civilized world. By the time I could get reception again, my mom thought I’d died in the woods.” Shaking his head, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “She almost forced me to come home, deeming Mr. Park crazy. But I insisted that I was fine, and so I continued to follow and learn from him for a whole year.”

Long, tan fingers tap out an unfamiliar beat on the wood. “By then, you’d already become a big celebrity,” he muses with a sad smile. “Actually,” he chuckles, eyes distant. “When I landed at the airport, I thought I was hallucinating. Your cologne ad took up an entire panel. I remember wondering what kittens had to do with a brand called _Daisy,_ ” he giggles, and Wonwoo cracks a smile despite himself.

He remembers that photoshoot. They had kittens running everywhere on set. It was a good day, if he hadn’t been tormented by thoughts of how much Junhui would have loved it, too.

“Anyway,” his companion continues. “I didn’t know how to approach you, or even whether I should. You seemed so far away. Too much time seemed to have passed between us. But as luck—or misfortune, however you want to look at it—would have it, we did meet again shortly after.”

At this piece of information, Wonwoo sits up straighter, eyeing him questioningly. 

“Do you remember?” Junhui asks gently. “It was at a charity Gala.”

Slowly, the fuzzy evening starts to come back to his mind.

Wonwoo was standing by the dessert table with Jeonghan and Mingyu, sipping on a champagne flute. Their agency had been invited to the event to promote it, but after the obligatory photos were taken, Wonwoo grew bored out of his mind. He wanted to go home and tuck himself into bed with a good book. Unfortunately, he had to resort to alcohol to make the experience a little more bearable.

He was more than a little buzzed when his tired eyes scanned the room and noticed someone looking _very_ familiar. He blinked sluggishly, but the man didn’t look any less like Junhui. _How much did he drink for alcohol to cloud his vision so significantly?_

While he’s still debating whether he should get his eyes checked, the man turns in his direction. The polite and pleasant expression falters briefly, before his large eyes light up with mirth, and a dazzling grin blooms on his face. Wonwoo wobbles, and he can’t exactly blame the champagne. In fact, his insides feel a lot like the bubbly liquid, too, as he gapes at the other male.

The brunet excuses himself from his company and makes his way toward Wonwoo. The latter looks left and right, but he’s alone. His friends ditched him at some point without his knowledge. Standing face to face with the man, the resemblance is uncanny.

Suddenly, Wonwoo loses control of his limbs. He sways in place, one hand reaching up to brush the other’s cheek. The skin is smooth and warm under his fingertips, and his heart squeezes. How long has it been since he’s last touched him like this? When was the last time they were in such close proximity? Wonwoo stares dazedly at the brunet, no longer caring whether it was possible or not that Junhui might be standing in the same room.

But the man in the suit frowns slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. His shapely brows form a crease. Automatically, Wonwoo lifts a hand to smooth it out. “Don’t frown,” he slurs. “It doesn’t suit you.”

The man softens his expression, cupping his hands over Wonwoo’s cheeks. “Why did you drink yourself to this state?” he asks softly. “Come on, let’s get you some fresh air.” Gently, he drops his hands to grab at the model’s wrist, guiding him out to the large balcony. How wonderful of his imagination to match this man’s voice to Junhui’s, he thinks as he floats out the doors.

They find a stone bench tucked in the corner. As soon as they’ve sat down, Wonwoo plops his head onto the other’s shoulder. He smells expensive cologne, soap, and skin. For some reason, he finds it very comforting, almost familiar, somehow. What was left of his logic tells him it’s not possible; the man is a stranger. But Wonwoo doesn’t care. He lets the delusion ease the longing. 

The Junhui illusion winds an arm around him and pulls him in, tucking his head under his chin. The man doesn’t speak, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind. His hand seeks the other’s and laces their fingers together. 

“I missed you,” he says, the words muffled by the fabric of the jacket.

The hand around his deltoid squeezes. “Me, too.”

As if the response was all he needed, his body moves on its own accord. He inches up, nuzzling against the crook of the other’s neck. His lips brush at the skin there, warm and real. He trails small kisses along the column of the illusion’s neck, drawing out a soft moan from the man. The hand holding his tighten around his fingers for a moment, then a thumb moves to stroke over his knuckles, mimicking the way his lips caress the underside of the brunet’s jaw. 

Wonwoo feels the latter’s free hand moving toward the back of his head, fingertips combing the short strands, grazing his scalp with enough pressure to make him shudder. Growing bold, he lifts his head to finally find the awaiting plump lips. He doesn’t care that he’s kissing a complete stranger in the middle of a Gala. In his mind, he’s finally found Junhui, and he’s too happy to care about modesty. His heart hammers against his ribcage, when his boyfriend responds, opening his mouth wider as Wonwoo darts his tongue out to lap at his bottom lip. 

A sigh escapes, and Wonwoo isn’t sure from which man it comes from. His head is filled with nothing but Junhui: the shy smiles, the airy laughs, the blushing cheeks. Resting his hand on the other’s chest, he feels his heartbeat mirroring his, fast and erratic.

But then he finds himself being gently pushed away. Through glassy eyes, he stares at the soft smile hanging on glistening swollen lips. His partner’s breathing is ragged as he brushes Wonwoo’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

“You’re drunk,” he says when Wonwoo looks at him with a hurtful expression.

The model shakes his head, resting their foreheads together. His voice comes out as a whisper, shaky and pleading. “Please, Junnie. I need you.”

He doesn’t know how they end up in a hotel room. His memories and consciousness fight to gain control. Current images and feelings are imposed over their first time, and he has a difficulty differentiating the two instances. The room is dark. They fall into bed. Clothes fly every which way. The sheets are cool against his heated body. His senses are going through overload. There’s too much to register, yet at the same time, only the sensation of being held and loved matter.

Trembling hands seek out hot skin, roaming over broad shoulders and firm muscles. Chests are pressed together, matching heartbeats echoing in between wet moans and needy pants. Soft lips and warm tongues fight for dominance, leaving blossoming flowers in their wakes. 

Wonwoo’s chest swells with euphoria, a tingling sensation shooting through his body from head to toe. He grins into his partner’s neck, hearing his name called over and over again in Junhui's yearning and strained voice. He turns his head to kiss him, pouring a year’s worth of love and heartache into the action. The brunet moans into his mouth, hands stroking his sides before pulling him in closer, as if to promise never to leave again. Never to let them separate ever again.

Everything is tight and hot as limbs tangle together, slick with sweat. 

It ends with fireworks exploding behind his eyes and Junhui’s name on his tongue.

Afterward, as Wonwoo lays boneless and satisfied, a coldness slowly creeps up around him. It’s not the cooler air of the room blowing across his sweaty skin. His partner had already gathered him up and covered them with the sheets. It’s something else. It’s the frozen fingers of consciousness tearing through the fragile veil of disbelief and illusion. 

He lays still against the brunet’s chest, barely able to make out the shape of his face in the darkness. The other man kisses the crown of his hair affectionately, fingers curling around his shoulder blade to draw some unknown pattern. Wonwoo’s stomach twists in anguish even as his heart still thumps unevenly from the exertion. _This is wrong_. The consequences of his actions dawn on him. Not only did he sleep with some unknown stranger, he’s used that man to try to mend his heart. 

The guilt is only fueled by the man’s comment. “Where do we go from here?”

Wonwoo sucks in a shaky breath, shutting his eyes in a futile attempt to block out _his_ voice from his head. “Please don’t contact me after today,” he whispers over the other’s chest.

He doesn’t receive a response. Exhausted mentally and physically, his body shuts down. The next morning, he wakes up alone, all traces of the man and the previous night gone saved for the bruises around his neck. 

 

Back in present day, Wonwoo stares at Junhui sitting across from him. Now it makes perfect sense why the stranger didn’t protest when he kept calling him Junhui, why he had seemed to know Wonwoo’s body so well, why he had kissed him with so much affection and love. Although it makes sense logically, he can’t seem quite able to accept the facts. He can’t believe he held Junhui in his grasp and lost him again. All because of the alcohol.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Wonwoo wants to know, deciding on anger and disgruntlement over admission of fault.

Junhui blinks. “I didn’t think I needed to. You recognized me. Or least I thought you did when you called me by name.” Then understanding crosses over his expression, and he shakes his head. “You were so drunk you thought you were seeing things?”

The stubborn model averts his gaze, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do,” Junhui argues with an eye roll. “So wait,” he leans forward to make Wonwoo look at him. “When you told me to not contact you, you thought I was just some random dude you had a one-night-strand with?”

An embarrassed blush washes over Wonwoo’s face as he scowls.

“I can’t believe you,” he barks out a wry laugh, shaking his head. 

The attitude pisses off the model. He whips around, shouting, “None of it would have happened if you just answered your damn phone!”

Disbelief colors Junhui’s stunned expression as his mouth falls open. “Didn’t I just spend the past ten minutes explaining why I couldn’t?”

“Even before that! After Graduation, all my calls went to voicemail and you didn’t answer any of my texts, either.”

“Of course not!” Junhui yells back. “I was mad at you! I thought that if I stopped talking to you, you’d give up on that ridiculous plan of yours and go to school for what you really wanted to do. How was I supposed to know my photography mentor hates technology?”

Huffing, Wonwoo glares at him and looks away. “This is so stupid,” he mutters. “It’s been four years, and we’re still fighting over the same damn thing.”

Junhui crosses his arms and sits back against the chair wearing a pout, stubbornly refusing to look at Wonwoo. He’s looking at something over the top of the model’s head instead.

“I asked you not to contact me,” Wonwoo says after a while, allowing him time to calm down somewhat. “Why did you?”

His question causes Junhui to meet his eyes. “Did you listen to it?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo’s foot taps restlessly underneath the table. As natural as breathing, Junhui reaches over to stop it. The model stays still. “It was—as far as I knew then—the first time you’d bothered to contact me after years. Of course I had to listen to it.” That’s all he admits. He doesn’t tell him about how crippling and helpless he felt that night.

“I’m sorry,” Junhui says sincerely, voice soft. He pulls on the sleeves of his shirt, eyes strained on his actions until Wonwoo puts his hands over his to stop the nervous habit. Their hands are just laying on top of each other’s. Nothing more, but a strange warmth spreads through Wonwoo’s chest. “I’m really sorry for causing you so much pain.”

When Wonwoo flickers his eyes upward in confusion, Junhui sighs.

“You really don’t remember much of that night, do you?” he muses quietly, sad smile crossing his lips. “At any rate,” he sighs. “There was a lot of times before last night where I wanted to call you and apologize, but I kept thinking back to everything you told me in that hotel room. All the grievances and resentment, how strangled your voice sounded…” Shaking his head, he looks to the ceiling. “I thought, maybe it’d be best if I disappeared for good, considering I did nothing but bringing you trouble.” 

Wonwoo can’t find the words to speak. His chest caved in when Junhui suggested disappearing for good. Yes, Wonwoo had come to accept that possibly over the years, even wished to never see the boy who broke his heart ever again, but now that the misunderstanding’s cleared out—no, if he’s being honest with himself, things had already changed when he received the call. There’s no way he can let Junhui leave again. His heart might not be able to make it this time.

“You can’t leave,” he tells Junhui, hand clamping down on the other’s on the table. His gaze is steady as he says, “I expect compensation for the past four years.”

The photographer swallows, regarding the model with an air of trepidation at the serious tone. “L-like what?”

A shrug. “I don’t know. You figure it out.”

Junhui nods, teeth sinking into that pink bottom lip. He looks at Wonwoo through thick lashes; Wonwoo’s breath catches. “I promise.” 

Wonwoo’s trying to act tough, to put Junhui through the ringer a bit, but it’s getting difficult with all of these little habits coming back to remind him of why he fell so hard for the photographer in the first place. It’s the innocent gaze, so open and vulnerable, without an ounce of malice or trickery.

“Good,” he says, knotting their fingers together to seal the deal.

Glimpsing up from their joined hands, Junhui asks, “So where do we go from here?”

Wonwoo cracks a hopeful smile. “Forward.”

 

 

 

It begins again with a phone call.

 

“Hey, it’s me. I’m calling from the office, so that’s probably why you don’t recognize the number,” Junhui laughs, and Wonwoo smiles. “I’m almost done. Is it too hot outside? You don’t have to wait for me, just go in first. I’ll find you.”

“No, it’s okay, I can handle it.”

“Did you bring a hat, at least? Sunglasses?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at the needless worries, his grin growing wider. “I’m in the shades.”

“Good,” Junhui seems satisfied. “Don’t forget to stay hydrated though.”

“Yes, Mom,” the model sighs with a laugh. “You just make sure you get here without tripping over your own two feet. I really don’t want to end the day at the hospital.”

“Pfft,” the photographer scoffs. “As if. ‘Careful’ is my middle name.”

“Okay Mr. Wen ‘Careful’ Junhui, if you say so.”

“I do say so!” Somewhat of a commotion on the other line causes Junhui to stop talking to Wonwoo. He returns a few seconds later. “Okay, the manager approved the shot. I’m gonna clean up and head out. See you soon!”

“Bye!”

 

Moments later, Wonwoo spies the tall frame of his boyfriend through the crowd outside of the aquarium. When he spots Wonwoo, a bright smile lights up his whole face and he hurries on over. 

“See? No scratches,” he says in greeting, shifting his arms to show Wonwoo.

“As of now,” the other mutters, handing him a ticket. “Now come on.” Grabbing his hand, he lets Junhui interlace their fingers together, then leads him inside.

 

It’s been a rough few months trying to patch things up and getting to know each other again as adults. Even though they both expected it, it still hit them hard when they fought. Unlike their teenager counterparts, though, they didn’t let the issues fester through silence and avoidance. They gritted their teeth and put everything on the table to sort through. 

At first, they agreed to start over with a friendship. After all, that’s how it happened the first time, as well. Slowly, as they got used to each other again, they grew closer, both emotionally and physically. Playful punches and sharp pokes eventually turned into caresses and gentle strokes. An outing among thirteen boys at a bistro, dwindled to a dinner for two. With time, spending a day playing video games and reading morphed into staying and cooking dinner together. Eventually, staying for dinner didn’t cut it anymore, and one would spend the night on the couch. Which soon turned into sharing a bed. It was at that point that they tried to live together.

To prevent discord, they stretched it out over a few days at a time, alternating living spaces every interval. When it looked like neither wanted to return to the single life, they made the big move. Now they lived in Wonwoo’s apartment, since it was closer to the city and larger than Junhui’s. Wonwoo found himself smiling more and more everyday, although sometimes, his blissful mood got in the way of his brooding reputation. Something Jeonghan never failed to point out. Neither did he forget to gloat at the fact that he knew about Wonwoo’s hidden feelings all along. 

While Wonwoo struggled to keep his facial expression in check, Junhui was ecstatic to capture a more smiley Wonwoo. In the end, Wonwoo decided to compromise and adopt a more natural gaze that would perhaps make him look more approachable, thus turning the product he’s advertising, more customer-friendly.

Other than smiling more, Wonwoo also retuned to writing with Junhui’s prodding. The prose and ideas were far from beautiful and entrancing, but he kept at it whenever he had breaks or free time. Like anything, though, it would get better with practice. And if it didn’t, well at least he had one fan who’d keep reading his stories no matter what.

 

“I remember this room being a lot bigger,” Junhui comments as they enter the caves that allowed them to feel like they’re walking underwater. 

“Yeah, me, too,” Wonwoo agrees, craning his neck to follow the movement of a stingray as it glides through the water over their heads. “Guess we got taller.”

Junhui chuckles, swinging their arms back and forth as he walks, face focused on the colorful fish. “Some of us more than others.” 

“Excuse me?”

Giggling, the other turns, mischief written all over his face. “What? It’s true.”

“No, we’re the same height.”

A shrug. “Okay, if that lets you sleep better at night.”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes, refusing to let the older win this argument. “Fine, let’s compare then.”

“Huh?” Bewilderment overtakes the smugness. “How? There’s no ruler here.”

Not answering, he tugs on the photographer’s hand and takes them behind a wall, disguises as fake coral. He pushes Junhui backward until the heels of his shoes hit the wall. Then he stands toe to toe with his boyfriend, noses almost brushing against each other’s.

“How, exactly, is this going to determine anything?” Junhui, amused, wants to know, arching a brow.

Smirking, Wonwoo closes the small distance, and presses his lips against Junhui’s. There’s a surprised noise, but the latter kisses him back enthusiastically. When they break apart, out of breath with flushed cheeks, Junhui’s head lolls sideways to rest on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

The model chuckles, stroking his cheek lovingly before poking at it gently to prompt him to look up from his position.

At that point, Wonwoo’s grins in satisfaction. “See? I am taller.”

Junhui rolls his eyes, but laughs at the idiotic joke anyway.  “You’re such a dork.”

Wonwoo shrugs, still grinning. “But you love me, so really, who’s the loser here?”

A light and lilting laugh fills his ears. “Do you really want to play that card?”

“There, there, nice kitty,” he teases, brushing his hand over the soft black hair. “I love you, too.”

 

It wasn’t easy getting to this point in their lives. But nothing easy is ever really worth it.

Especially love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooooo
> 
> So as promised, I have returned from the dead... with angst. Oh my, can you believe I had WonHui breaking up??? /)0_0(\
> 
> I know I said I'd never write angst, but idk what happened. Actually, no, I do. I blame the SVT/Alone teasers. Especially Jun's. WTF was that??? *ahem* Anyway... thank you for checking out the fic. I made up for it with the ending, so hopefully it appeased you, and i won't get chased by torches and pitchforks. XD
> 
> Please let me know if I should just go back to writing more fluff, and just pure fluff. And also! What would YOU adorable readers like to see?
> 
> As always, thank you!  
> <3


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